“I bet she wishes we’d kiss while we fuck her,” Cyrus adds, his voice dropping to something darker. “Would you like that, littledancer? Our tongues in each other’s mouths while our cocks stretch you open?”
I moan, unable to form words as the forbidden image burns through my mind. Their identical bodies pressed together, hands exploring each other while I watch. It’s wrong, so wrong, but my fingers move faster at the thought.
“She’s close,” Ace observes, his eyes locked on my movements. “Make yourself come with us.”
“Fuck, I’m gonna—” Cyrus tenses, his cock pulsing as thick ropes of cum shoot across his stomach, some landing on the sheets between them.
Ace follows seconds later, his release just as powerful, cum spattering across his chest and abs. The sight of them coming together, their bodies glistening with sweat and release, pushes me over the edge.
Pleasure crashes through me in violent waves as I arch off the bed, my legs trembling uncontrollably. “Ace! Cyrus!” Their names tear from my throat, a desperate confession I can’t hold back.
My vision blurs as the orgasm rips through me, but not before I catch the identical expressions on their faces—that dark twinkle in their hazel eyes, a dangerous gleam that tells me they’ve just collected another piece of me. Another weakness to exploit.
The humiliation hits as the pleasure subsides. What did I admit to them? The twisted fantasy of them together—brothers crossing a line that should never be crossed, all while I watch. Heat blazes across my cheeks, burning with shame yet unmistakably aroused by the taboo of it.
“Look how red she gets,” Cyrus laughs, his voice rough. “Embarrassed by your own dirty mind, little dancer?”
Ace studies me. “Interesting.”
I cover my face with my hands. “I didn’t mean?—”
“Yes, you did,” Ace interrupts, his tone leaving no room for denial. “And now we know exactly how depraved our little slut really is.”
Cyrus leans closer to the camera, his satisfied smirk making my stomach flip. “Get some sleep, Keira. We’ll be there in fourteen hours to collect what’s ours.”
“Rest up,” Ace adds, wiping the evidence of his release from his stomach. “You’ll need your energy to keep up with both of us.”
“And trust me,” Cyrus says, his voice dropping to that dangerous purr that makes my insides clench, “we have plans for you that will make the Hunt seem like foreplay.”
The call ends abruptly, leaving me staring at my own reflection in the darkened screen. For a moment, I don’t recognize the woman looking back at me—flushed cheeks, wild eyes, lips parted in what could be horror or desire or some twisted combination of both.
I let the phone slip from my fingers and collapse back onto the bed.
There’s this undeniable current of energy running through me. A humming, vibrating aliveness that makes every nerve ending spark and tingle. I press my palms flat against the mattress, feeling my heartbeat thrum through my fingertips, racing with adrenaline and anticipation.
Fourteen hours.
I should pack a bag and run as far as my legs will carry me. Instead, I’m lying here, shattered and spread open like a book they’ve decided to read cover to cover, and somehow feeling more awake than I have in years.
I press my hands over my face, a muffled laugh escaping between my fingers. What is happening to me? Who is this person I’m becoming? This woman who doesn’t just submit butcraves the submission, who offers up not just her body but the darkest corners of her mind?
My skin feels too tight, too sensitive, too aware of every point of contact with the sheets beneath me. I’m exhausted and electrified all at once, hollowed out and yet somehow more filled with sensation than I’ve ever been.
16
ACE
Iknock on Keira’s door, my knuckles rapping against the wood. My foot taps impatiently against the hallway floor as we wait. Fourteen hours felt like a fucking eternity.
Behind me, Cyrus shifts his weight, the rustle of cellophane drawing my attention. I glance over my shoulder and nearly roll my eyes. My brother is actually holding a bouquet of dark red roses mixed with some purple flowers I don’t recognize.
“Seriously?” I mutter, keeping my voice low.
Cyrus shrugs, unapologetic. “What? She deserves something nice.”
This is new territory. We hunt, we fuck, we discard. That’s our pattern, refined over seven years of participating in the Hollow’s Hunt. Never once has Cyrus bought flowers. Never once have I wanted him to.
I tap my foot faster, my mind circling back to that video call. Keira’s confession about wanting to watch us together—to see Cyrus and me cross that taboo boundary—replays in my head. The thought should disgust me. Instead, I find it oddly arousing, particularly because of how it affected her. The flush spreadingacross her cheeks, the way her breathing quickened, pupils dilating with desire even as embarrassment colored her features.
